Patch
by PaazPeytProductions
Summary: There's a hole in Cole's hat, much to the troubled boy's dismay. Fortunately for him, someone is more than happy to patch things up. But there is more than just Cole's hat that needs repairing, and Cole is reminded just how complex the world outside the Fade is.
1. Chapter 1 - Hole

"Your hat's starting to fall apart."

Cole felt a hand land gently on his head; a finger poked through a hole in the wide brim and wiggled in front of his pale eyes. He peeked owlishly out from under his scraggly blond hair at the smirking Inquisitor towering over him.

"I had not noticed," he mumbled, a note of distress in his voice. "I do not want it to fall apart."

"Don't worry, I can patch it up for you. I'm not half-bad at sewing, surprisingly." She plucked the hat off Cole's head, examining it closely. He shifted uncomfortably as she did so, unused to the sudden lightness on his crown and the feeling of nakedness that accompanied it. The tall Qunari woman paid no heed to Cole's discomfort, plopping down among the crates in the tavern attic. Upon closer inspection, Cole realized she had a small sewing kit in her hand.

"Do you carry that around with you?" he asked, confusion and curiosity clear in his tone.

"Nah, I noticed the hole in your hat the other day after we fought that dragon in the Hinterlands. I bought the kit in Val Royeaux yesterday morning." She smiled as she cut a small square of brown fabric. "I know how much you like that hat of yours."

"I like hats," he said simply, as if the fact needed to be clarified.

"I know you do. I've never been big on them myself, mostly because of _these_." She gestured to the curved horns protruding from her skull.

"That is why you wear the paint," he observed solemnly, referring to the toxic vitaar. He blinked slowly, seemingly mulling things over, before murmuring, "It is pretty, but not the same as a hat."

"Agreed." She dipped the tiny needle up and down. Her technique lacked the grace and poise of a proper seamstress; the tiny tool looked odd, almost humorous, in her large hands, where sharp daggers were normally clutched. Cole was fascinated by the sight all the same, and he watched the glint of the metal weave in between the Inquisitor's thick fingers. A beautiful irony, it appeared to him, that hands which so often ended lives could so tenderly save a dying hat. "There, that should do it. Well? What do you think?"

Cole carefully took his hat back, examining the new patch studiously. After a moment of gentle prodding and pressing, he gingerly placed the wide-brimmed hat on his head. "It's good. Thank you, Inquisitor."

At his praise, she seemed to glow in delight. Given, she always glowed to Cole. Due to the mark on her hand, she shined brightly, nearly blinding his view of her emotions. But at that moment, her happiness outshone the Anchor tenfold. The sudden burst of joy confused Cole to no end.

"I'm glad," she said, hardly able to contain her smile.

"Why?" Cole's prompt response caused the Inquisitor's grin to falter slightly. "What has made you so happy?"

"Well, you," she replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

"But I haven't _done_ anything." Cole strove to make others happy, but he was wholly unused to causing happiness unknowingly.

"Of course you have, Cole." The Inquisitor stood and smiled fondly at him. "You work so hard to relieve the burdens of others. Someone needs to be there for you, or else you won't be able to do the things you do. Now, c'mon, Varric's been talking about another game of Wicked Grace tonight. Don't you want to see Cullen challenge Josie again? I know I do! And Bull is bringing the drinks, buncha crazy stuff from Seheron. Should be good. Can you even _get_ drunk? I'd like to see that. Oh! Have you seen Blackwall's new carving? Just like the griffons of old..."

As the Inquisitor rambled on happily about the other participants in Varric's famous (or infamous) games of Wicked Grace, Cole thought of Rhys, the only mortal being he ever truly considered his friend. As he thought of the mage's face, the Inquisitor's appeared beside his, joined soon after by all the other members of the Inner Circle, even Sera. Slowly, a small smile broke across Cole's gaunt face.

"Thank you, Inquisitor. I am happy to know you."

The Inquisitor, in the midst of recanting a story about Cassandra's love for a certain romance serial written by a certain dwarf, halted, mouth parting silently in surprise. Her neck turn quickly to face Cole, eyes wide. She blinked rapidly a few times, as if processing the words Cole had just said, before a wide smile stretched her lips.

"I'm happy to know you, too, Cole. Now, no more dallying, hm? Let's go!" Without a moment more of hesitance, the Inquisitor grabbed Cole's hand and began pulling him towards the stairs. In his shock, he allowed himself to be swept away, marveling at how warm and large a hand could be. His eyes flicked upwards briefly, and he contently admired the patch on his hat. Somehow, it looked even better than if it was new.


	2. Chapter 2 - Knick

"Dear, hold still for a moment, would you?"

The Inquisitor glanced back curiously at the sound of the regal, if somewhat condescending, voice. She was greeted with a rather shocking sight. In the midst of the Emerald Graves, with all its tree-filled, nature-y glory, Vivienne stood beside a perplexed-looking Cole, holding a long, slender strip- a measuring tape? Blackwall, who had been dutifully trekking behind the Inquisitor, wrinkled his nose at the shining paper.

"Leave it to an Orlesian to take something like that out in the field," he snorted, rolling his shoulders back impatiently.

"What are you doing?" Cole muttered quietly, fidgeting in obvious discomfort. Vivienne sent him a withering glance, one delicate eyebrow raised.

"Taking your measurements, dear. Surely even _you_ can see that. Now, stop squirming; I want this done as soon as possible." She wrapped the tape around the spirit's waist, pressed it along his shoulders, ran it down the length of his arms, studiously taking note of the numbers. The Inquisitor watched with an air of bemusement, before finally speaking up.

"You know, I hate to question you, Vivienne, but _why_ are you taking Cole's measurements, exactly?" She placed a hand on her hip and waited for the answer. Vivienne wrote down a few more numbers before replying.

"I am going to send these numbers to my tailor in Val Royeaux. I'm tired of running about with it looking like a scruffy puppy that has been left out on its lonesome without knowing how to care for itself." She eyed his scrappy outfit contemptuously. "Just because it is a demon does _not_ mean it has to dress like one."

"_Not_ a demon," Cole and the Inquisitor both corrected insistently at once. Vivienne paused, eyes narrowed.

"And that _hat_," she continued, ignoring the correction. "It absolutely _needs_ to go. Dreadful thing is far past its time. You would think the holes in it would signify that, wouldn't you? The mere fact that it needs patchwork! Try wearing that to Court, dear, and they'd throw you out in a heartbeat, _if_ they didn't hang you for such a crime of fashion first."

The Inquisitor opened her mouth to argue, but a loud outburst beat her to the punch. "My hat is _not_ going. Do not try to remove it." His tone was strained and furious, and a tinge of red spread to his pale cheeks. Both the Inquisitor and Blackwall gaped in surprise; no one talked to Vivienne like that, least of all _Cole_. Vivienne, for her part, remained stoic, only regarding him in an appraising fashion. He continued angrily, "The Inquisitor patched my hat herself. Her work will not be tossed aside." He huffed and, as a thought seemed to occur to him, he looked down at his feet and added in a far more subdued tone, "And... I like my hat."

Vivienne pursed her lips, glancing from Cole to the Inquisitor. "I see. Well, dear, if I had known you were to patch up the hat, I would have suggested a sepia fabric rather than burnt sienna. Blends much more nicely."

The flushed color drained from Cole's face in relief, and the Inquisitor's lips twitched upwards. "Yes, of course, you are right, Vivienne. Next time, I should not be so silly as to not confront you for fashion advice."

"Good, darling." A small smile graced Vivienne's lips, quickly disappearing as she returned her gaze to Cole.

"Thank you," he said in a hushed tone.

"Do not think you are off the hook. The hat may stay, but I will still find suitable attire for you."

Blackwall scoffed, turning his eyes to the trail. "Can we continue now? The Dales aren't going to recapture themselves."

"Yes, right. Onward, then." The Inquisitor nodded and resumed the march through the Graves.

* * *

><p>"There's a knick in your brim, Cole."<p>

The small sewing kit was out the moment the words left the Inquisitor's mouth. Cole's eyes fastened on the new rip in his hat, frowning at the frayed split. "I had not noticed..."

"A chevalier just barely sliced it. I'm just glad he didn't slice _you_ in the process." She swiped Cole's hat off his blond head with an easy smile. "But don't you worry, I have you covered." Once again she perched on the crates beside the spirit, retrieving a silver needle from her kit. The leftover thread she used from before was still pulled through the eye. She knotted one end and began weaving the thread through the tear. "I have to admit, I'm happy there's still enough thread on the needle. I hate trying to get it through the eye, my hands are just too big." She stared down at her thick fingers for a moment before continuing.

"Large hands, broad, encompassing, subject to jests and teasing. 'They belong to a man,' he says, washing his own in the river, rushing, rapid, reaching far beyond the camp resting on the banks. No matter how hard I scrub, the blood won't come off." Cole breathed the words quietly, as if he didn't realize he was saying them. The Inquisitor stopped sewing abruptly, eyes locked on the needle in between her fingers. "The others laugh, intoxicated, inebriated, itching for celebration after a job well done. He stands, water dripping from his fingertips, delicate and dainty, free from damage or dirt. 'Yours belong to a woman,' I counter, emotion building in my chest. 'If you want them so bad, come and get them for yourself.' This feeling, edged with confusion. Is it love or lust? Is there a difference?"

"That- that's enough, Cole." The Inquisitor stood up suddenly, thrusting the hat back onto Cole's head. "I fixed the knick. I'll... I'll talk to you later." Not looking him directly in his eyes, the Inquisitor blustered toward the stairs, accidentally knocking a few crates aside as she went.

Cole watched helplessly as she went, his hands subconsciously going to the brim of his hat to feel the fixed slit. "I made it worse," he whispered, hands falling to his sides. "I have to make it better."


	3. Chapter 3 - Paint

_Is it love or lust? Is there a difference?_

The Inquisitor frowned, brow furrowed as she paced her quarters restlessly. Every now and again she would glance furtively at the tall stack of papers and reports beginning to accrue on her desk. Soon enough, it would start to teeter dangerously, but she could not even _think_ about working through them. She ran her large hands through her hair, desperately trying to shake the frustration from her head. She clenched a fistful of hair, raking her fingers against her scalp, feeling them scrape and scratch. Her shoulders tensed and the pacing stopped, her grasp easing and releasing the short strands mercifully. Her hands fell to her side, and she cast another despondent glance at the massive pile of paperwork. A familiar signature on the top of the stack made her do a double-take.

It was a missive from the Valo-Kas mercenaries. Her old band.

This was not the first letter she had received from the Valo-Kas, but the recently revived memories set a heavy feeling in her gut. The Inquisitor shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, fiddling with her fingers subconsciously before snatching up the paper. She skimmed over it quickly, only taking in a few brief passages.

'..._came across more demons the other day. Killed 'em real quick, even the one with the tassels and silk. She had a nice pair of... horns... on her. Reminded me of you, except more purple and less alive... The boys are liking being a part of the Inquisition. They're happy to actually get paid for once... Farion was asking about you earlier. You're not still mad at him, are you?_'

The Inquisitor exhaled sharply, letting the missive slip from her fingers and drift back onto the pile. She stared numbly at her hand, where the Anchor marked her gray palm. Her fingers trembled slightly as she slowly curled her hand into a fist and released it at the same speed. Her nails itched and her muscles twitched as she deliberately raised her hand up.

The bellow filled the room as she let her open hand crash down upon the stack of papers, swiping them clean of the desk. Hundreds of pieces of parchment tumbled into the air, lazily swirling and cascading about her as she brought her fists down on the wooden surface. Her yell of pent-up frustration wound down to a pathetic whimper, and she shakily gripped her forehead with closed eyes.

"Gotta get a hold of myself... can't lose it now, not when the world is falling apart at the seams." She took in a deep breath. A random thought occurred to her, and she couldn't help but chortle at it. "Even worse, Cole's hat is falling apart at the seams. Who'll sew it up if not for me?" The notion calmed her, and she felt her usual serenity returning to her. She cleared her throat and glanced about at the scattered papers. Sighing, she crouched to pick them up. Spotting the edge of a sheet sticking out from under her desk, she reached out to grab it. A frowned creased her forehead as her hand brushed something hidden behind one of the legs. "What the..." She grasped the object, head tilting in confusion when it came into light. "How did this get here?"

Somehow, it was her small sewing kit. Her curiosity growing, she opened the box and, in spite of herself, laughed at its contents.

A small pincushion sat nestled atop the layers of fabric with many shining needles poking out of it. Each and every needle had a thread already poked through the eye.

"It is good to hear you laugh again. A snicker silences a scream and seals every succoring wound." The Inquisitor was not surprised to hear the genuinely pleased voice behind her. Forgetting about the papers, she stood and turned to him, the kit still in her hands. "You said you hated threading the needles. I did my best." As he twiddled his thumbs, she could see a few bandages on his slender fingers. Next time, she would lend him a thimble.

"Cole. I... imagine you saw my little... fit. I'm sorry, that was rather uncalled for, hm?" She smiled slightly, failing to keep a note of bitterness out of her voice.

"No. Not uncalled for, not unnecessary, not useless." Cole ran a finger along the patch on his hat. "Farion holds my arm tightly, but for once he does not call attention to my hand. His grip cuts off the circulation, and in my feverish delirium I gibber nonsense as he raises his staff. The others slay the wyverns, screaming, shrieking. I want them to be quiet. Farion's magic spreads to the wound as he presses a pretty hand to it. Haziness halts my vision as the venom vanishes from my veins." He stared at the Inquisitor mournfully. "I meant to get rid of the venom in your mind. I did not intend to make it spread. You cannot forget him, thus you cannot forgive yourself. Give me a chance to make this right."

"Help me with my vitaar, please."

"What?" Cole blinked, taken aback.

"You said you think the paint is pretty, didn't you? I'd like for you to help me with it, if you don't mind." The Inquisitor placed the sewing kit on the desk, replacing it instead with a jar from one of the drawers.

"But, the hurt-"

"-can wait," she intercepted patiently. "It's not going anywhere at the moment. I need a new vitaar for the next time we head out. Help me."

Cole fidgeted, his face still troubled, but he slowly nodded. "All right. I will help you."

"Thank you, Cole." The Inquisitor pulled up two chairs, setting them opposite to one another. Taking a seat, she gestured for Cole to take the other. He did so obediently, accepting the jar of toxic paint. "You'll need a brush. Not many humans, or spirits-turned-human, can really handle the stuff." She quickly got up with that revelation and began rooting through her drawers, finally retrieving a few brushes. Handing them to Cole, she sternly warned, "Now, be gentle. Don't get it too close to my eyes or mouth. Try not to mix non-complementary colors."

"Okay. I will try." Cole eagerly dipped a brush into the jar, watching in fascination as he lifted the bristles to the Inquisitor's cheek. Softly, he applied the paint in slim strokes, curving along the Inquisitor's cheekbones and eye sockets. Flaring out from the eyebrow, he dragged the brush, leaving delicate trails of purple vitaar down to her jaw. Just barely grazing the paint from her forehead to the tip of her nose, Cole focused intently on his work. At the sharp intake of breath from the Inquisitor, he mumbled distractedly, "It feels good, so good, cool and warm at the same time, like raindrops on a summer's night. The warmth spreads from the brush outward, to my ears, the tips of my horns, down past my stomach to my-"

"Hey, hey. Not another word, Cole," the Inquisitor sighed, eyes closed. "I'm in my happy place, don't make it weird. Out of my head."

"Sorry..." he muttered sheepishly. He continued his work, slowly and steadily, without any more unbidden mind reading. After a long stretch of silence, he spoke, "I am finished."

She opened her eyes, blinking in the light. Picking up the looking glass she had placed beside her chair, she observed Cole's vitaar. "Impressive. Are you sure you haven't done this before?"

"I moved the brush where it needed to be," he responded, not quite answering her question, but she let it slide with a cheerful shrug.

"Well, whatever works, I suppose. Thanks, Cole." She smiled affectionately at him, patting the top of his hat.

"Will you let me untangle the hurt?" His pale eyes seemed larger than ever, and her smile saddened slightly.

"Not now, Cole. Later."

"'You work so hard to relieve the burdens of others,'" he recounted, his gaze never faltering. "'Someone needs to be there for you, or else you won't be able to do the things you do.'"

The Inquisitor snorted softly, shaking her head. "Now you're quoting me? You really are taking after Varric. But, in all seriousness... thank you."

"You are welcome, Inquisitor."


	4. Chapter 4 - Dance

The air was hazy with whiffs of fine wine and low conversation. At the head of the ballroom, Empress Celene, safe from the night's ousted dangers, surveyed her guests with a content smile, her three handmaidens twittering excitedly behind her as they cast furtive glances at Varric and his brazenly exposed chest hair. Below Celene's watchful eye, couples whirled about on the dance floor, engaged in a perfectly practiced dance. The Iron Bull happily held down the fort at the dessert table, occasionally taking the time to flirt with passing servants. The Inquisitor's advisors occupied various strategic spots around the ballroom, waiting for any hint of further trouble.

The Inquisitor herself wandered at an appropriate pace with an almost empty glass of champagne in her large hand. She was relieved that they had succeeded in stopping Corypheus's plot on the empress's life, and she happily took the rest of the night to unwind before they packed up and left back for Skyhold.

"Ah! Inquisitor Adaar, what a wonderful show you put on tonight. It was a pleasure to see you so actively take a role in the Game." The Inquisitor smiled at the Dowager.

"I live to please, Madam. It was quite exciting, I must admit," she laughed airily, bowing slightly to the elderly woman.

"Oh, you would do _well_ in the Court, my dear," the Dowager cried ecstatically, before springing into some longwinded anecdote about one of her many previous marriages. The Inquisitor took the first chance she could to excuse herself, thankfully catching sight of an inconspicuously slight figure hanging around the railing. Striding past many eager dukes and duchesses, the Inquisitor leaned against the polished gold rail, taking a sip of the sweet champagne before glancing sideways at her companion.

"Are you enjoying the party, Cole?" She eyed his bright uniform, only slightly regretting the fact that Vivienne couldn't see him all dressed up.

"It is... loud." He stared out bemusedly at the swirling dancers.

"Verbally or mentally?" the Inquisitor hummed, lifting her glass to her lips only to find it empty.

"Both. Every cooed compliment, every little laugh, every subtle step hides masked motives behind _another_ mask. And they all _love_ it." He paused, tilting his head slightly. "How can the dancers focus? The cogs churn especially fast when they dance."

"Florianne set the wheels in motion when she asked me to dance," the Inquisitor recalled, running a hand over the back of her neck. "I suppose it's a good place to conspire. Have you tried it? Dancing, not conspiring."

"No. Dorian told me to before we left Skyhold. He said it would make me blend in better, seem less like me." Cole's hands twitched slightly as he spoke. "I do not know the steps."

"Well, you don't want to disappoint Dorian, do you?" Cole's eyes widened at her words.

"No, I do not. Will he be very unhappy with me if I do not dance?" He gazed imploringly up at the Inquisitor, who, for her part, somehow managed to keep a straight face.

"Yes, very. So, to prevent making Dorian sad, would you like to dance with me? It would probably be better if you didn't approach some random noblewoman. Besides, I can teach you the steps, and we can conspire together!" She allowed her humorous grin to slip onto her face. "So, what do you say? May I have this dance?"

Cole nodded, relief washing over his face at the fact that he would not upset his mage friend. "How do we dance?"

"I'll show you, come on." Smiling widely, she set her empty glass on a small table and grabbed Cole's wrist. In her haste, she almost dragged him behind her as she ran to the dance floor.

Once they reached the floor, the Inquisitor faced the spirit, visibly attempting to suppress her excitement. "Now, lift your right hand." Cole did as instructed, and the Inquisitor readily held it in her left. Her hand almost completely enveloped Cole's, and she noted it was rather cool to the touch. She passed her right arm under his left and placed it between his shoulder-blades. "You can put your free hand on my shoulder." She really did tower over him.

He reached up to put his hand on her shoulder, the brim of his hat almost tickling her chin. "Your shoulder is very soft. Is it supposed to feel like that?"

"Well, no, but that's not my shoulder." In the distance, a catcall could be heard, likely to be from the Iron Bull. "Never mind that, Cole. Here." She released his right hand and lifted his left up to her shoulder, letting it rest there. "There we go." She took his right hand again, and encouraged, "You'll do fine. Follow my lead, and one, two, three..." She began to move, the hand on Cole's back guiding him carefully.

The music was a good guide for Cole. Once he got used to the swaying steps, the rhythm seemed much more natural, and he didn't have to stare at his feet as often. Looking around, he could see that many of the other dancers had stopped in favor of watching the famous Inquisitor and the odd, mousy-looking boy dance. So many thoughts flitting throughout the minds of the guests. People above the dancers were watching too. He could see Josephine and Leliana conversing, gleeful looks on their faces. He wanted to know what they were thinking, but the deafening din surrounding the dancers drowned out their discussion. Finding the distractions made it more difficult to follow the tune, he turned his attention back to the Inquisitor.

"Hear any juicy secrets from the minds of our peers?" she whispered, her mouth barely moving.

Cole, still following her lead, spoke in a hushed tone, "I do not understand. How can a secret be juicy?"

The Inquisitor rolled her eyes. "It's a figure of speech, Cole. Think of it like this: a big, red apple at the peak of ripeness is positively dripping with juiciness. So, a big secret that is dripping with scandal is also juicy. Do you get it now?"

"Yes. I think." She laughed at his still-befuddled expression.

"Don't worry about it, Cole." Her eyes twinkled. "I'm gonna dip you. Brace yourself."

"You're going to what?"

He felt the hand on his back tense slightly as the Inquisitor pressed her weight forward. Realizing what the move was from watching the dancers earlier, Cole leaned back into the palm of her hand. He could hear people applauding. He glanced around, seeing the many voyeurs clapping at the display. He saw Varric peering over the railing. The dwarf raised his drink in a toast when he caught Cole's stare. After a moment of stasis where Cole unsteadily remained dipped, the Inquisitor pulled him back to his feet.

"The song's coming to an end," she murmured as they resumed the normal steps of the song. As the final notes of the ballad drew out, her hand fell from his back and she pulled away from him, causing the hand on her shoulder to drop. Her left hand still holding his, she muttered, "Now, turn to face the crowd and take a bow with me." He did as she said, to tittering applause from the watching crowd.

After she led him away from the floor, she burst into a glowing grin. "That was fantastic, Cole. Dorian will be so proud."

Cole smiled, a bit unsure of himself. "The dance was easier than I expected. It was fun."

"I'm glad you thought so." She looked around, catching sight of a servant carrying a tray of drinks. "I'm going to get another glass of champagne. I'll talk to you later!"

He watched as she took off after the servant, fiddling with his fingers absentmindedly. The hurt from the other day was buried in her mind again; the excitement of the party and its accompanying intrigue must have pushed it aside. And yet, Cole was not quite at ease. With a note of quiet determination in his tone, he mumbled to himself, "I need to talk to Farion."


	5. Chapter 5 - Questions

"You need to _what_?"

Cullen had not heard his door open. He had not even heard the footsteps draw closer until a voice sounded from right behind him, causing him to drop the book he had been perusing with a hastily hissed curse. The words had not properly registered, so he turned to the stealthy spirit with an incredulous request for repetition.

"I said, I need to see the Valo-Kas mercenaries," Cole responded calmly, staring gravely at Cullen.

The commander shifted uncomfortably; dealing with Cole was never his favorite activity. He knew the spirit meant well, but his past experiences made it hard to go against old prejudices. "Why in Andraste's name do you need to see them?"

"I must speak to Farion." His statement was simple, matter-of-fact, as if Cullen should immediately understand the reasoning behind his request. "Do you know where they are?"

"Hold on, Cole. You have to explain this, you understand? I'm not just going to give away their location, even to a member of the Inner Circle." Cullen sighed in frustration. "And why Farion specifically? He's one of the only mages in the group, isn't he? You're not-" Cullen's eyes widened suddenly. "You're not planning on _killing_ him, are you?"

"No. I need to ask him if it was love or lust."

"You need to _what_?" Cullen could feel a headache coming on; talking to Cole was always a game of ring-around-the-rosie. "I... I can't even-" He rubbed his temples, struggling to find the correct response, before sighing in defeat. "...Fine. You know what? _Fine_. The Valo-Kas mercenaries are currently stationed at the Forbidden Oasis to prevent Venatori movement. You'll find Farion there, so you can talk about... whatever. Now, if you would-" In a blink of an eye, Cole was gone as quickly and quietly as he came. "-leave?" He looked about wearily, and grunted discontentedly to himself. "I'll never understand him..."

* * *

><p>The sun beat down against the scorching sands without mercy, but that mattered little to Cole. His hat provided all the protection he needed from the sweltering rays, though there was a sense of discomfort in his chest. He recognized that the uneasiness was stemming from the fact that he was all alone. He had never been to the Oasis on his own, without the Inquisitor and two of the other members of the Inner Circle. He was used to following and exchanging little bits of banter; these habits were conspicuously absent as he traversed the desert. He tried to strike up another conversation with his shoelaces, but alas, they still would not listen to him, even after he apologized profusely for tying them in knots.<p>

When he reached the first camp on the outskirts of the Oasis, he paused, invisible to the scouts around him. Approaching one of the loitering agents, he revealed himself, much to her surprise.

"Excuse me, where are the Valo-Kas mercenaries?"

"Maker's breath!" The scout jumped at Cole's question, eying him wildly. "O-oh, it's... you. _Ahem_. You. They're- they are posted outside the Solasan Temple. Is- is that all, ser?" The poor woman was still visibly shaken.

"Yes. Thank you." In an instant, Cole was on his way again, leaving the bewildered scout to her duties.

As he drew closer to the temple, he took a moment to pet the tuskets and nugs along the way. The critters endeared him so; they weren't like the cats at Skyhold, which always swatted at his feet. These creatures were friendly. One of the small nugs was happily cuddling up to his hand, when he heard a warning shout in the distance: "Demons!"

Cole sprang to his feet, tearing off in the direction of the temple. He mournfully lamented the fact that his sudden movements startled the poor nugs, but there were more pressing issues on hand. He would be sure to apologize to them later.

Splashing through the Intrinsic Pool and climbing up the slippery crags to the entrance of the temple, Cole was met with the sight of a huge scuffle brewing. He assumed the Valo-Kas were in the thick of the fight; the horde of rampaging Qunari was a good hint to support his hypothesis. Surrounding the mercenaries was a large group of demons; burning red Rage Demons, icy cold Despair Demons, and a horrifically-spindly Terror. The whirlpool of emotional trauma incarnate utterly failed to wear down the Valo-Kas. On the contrary, they grinned widely and licked their lips in anticipation as the battle exploded.

Drawing his own daggers, Cole leapt into the fray swiftly, effortlessly flanking the Terror. With perfect precision, he planted the pair of blades into its back, bringing the buried weapons down through its body with a deep grunt. Wrenching the daggers from the demon's twisted form, he vanished into smoke, dodging around its deadly swipes. He glanced around the battle. Most of the Rage Demons had been reduced to cinders, while a few frosty piles of rags lying about signified the fate of the Despair Demons. Noticing one of the mercenaries blundering towards the Terror, Cole quickly sidestepped, allowing the bulky warrior to catch its attention.

Unfortunately, while Cole was focused on the Terror, the only remaining Rage Demon flung a burst of flames towards the mercenary engaging the Terror, whom the still-invisible Cole was unwittingly standing between.

With a startled cry, Cole faltered to one knee, feeling searing pain shoot up his left arm as he reappeared in a burst of smoke. The brunt of the fire had smashed into his arm, the rest of it splintering away on contact. The sheer unexpectedness of the attack sent Cole for a loop, and he forced himself to stand using every ounce of his willpower. Turning towards the demon, he dashed past the other slower mercenaries and sliced at his target in a whirl of fury. The blades cut deep, and the already wounded demon crumbled to ashes with a haunting howl. He turned, teeth gritted, to see the Terror finally cut down, leaving only Cole and the Valo-Kas before the temple. At the revelation that the battle was over, Cole sank to the stony ground, clutching at his viciously burnt arm.

"Hey! You!" Cole wearily looked up at the sound of the barking voice. The Qunari that had taken over fighting the Terror was striding towards him with a cautious scowl on her face and her axe still drawn. "Identify yourself! Why are you here?"

Cole opened his mouth to answer, when he was cut off by a scolding tone. "Shokrakar, not now. Look, he helped us out, didn't he? So he's clearly not a bad guy. And besides, he seems pretty injured. Lemme take a look at him."

A hand fell softly on Cole's shoulder, and the spirit looked up at the person it belonged to. His eyes widened when he recognized the face that was staring down at him. "You're him! You have his face, and his hands! You have the pretty hands! Farion!"

The man, Farion, raised an eyebrow at the unexpected exclamation. "Yes...? I suppose that _is_ me." He glanced at his slender hand, still on Cole's shoulder. The reason behind his slight stature was simple; unlike the other members of the Valo-Kas mercenaries, Farion was not a Qunari. He was an elf. "Look, let me heal you first. Afterward, I expect a full explanation." Cole nodded and held still as the mage ran his graceful fingers over Cole's arm, trailing viridian wisps over the burn. Cole felt the spirit magic rushing into his veins, and he felt comforted, as he did when Solas shielded him. Farion smiled slightly at Cole's relieved expression, before pressing, "Now. An explanation? I can tell you're not quite human, but you don't seem to be a demon."

"_What_?" came a yelp from Shokrakar, who was watching with a look of alarm. "Not a human? Then, what is he?"

"A spirit, I'd presume," Farion answered thoughtfully, observing Cole closely. "So, how did you know my name? Were you looking for me specifically?"

"Yes. I need to ease her pain, and only you can help." Cole gazed imploringly at the elf. "She won't open up to me yet. _You_ can. You can answer her question and stop the suffering."

"Who are you talking about?" Farion's brows knit closely in confusion. "Speak plainly."

"_The Inquisitor_. I must heal her hurt, as you've healed mine. Please, Farion."

"The Inquisitor? You mean-" The mage's eyes widened. "_You mean Adaar_?!" His voice dropped down to a whisper. "I... we need to talk in private. Follow me."


	6. Chapter 6 - Answers

After a hasty argument with Shokrakar, Farion and Cole were permitted to slip away from camp, albeit with the large Tal-Vashoth woman glaring daggers as they went. They trekked deep into the old mining tunnels that snaked around the Oasis like a giant labyrinth, and once he was convinced of their solitude, Farion lit a cold brazier with a careless wave of his hand. Cole stared at the dancing blue flames: veilfire. It reminded him of the Fade.

"Now, please. Tell me everything. Who, and what, _exactly_ are you? How do you know Adaar? Is she hurt badly?" Farion's voice strained as he spoke. "What is the question I need to answer for her?"

Cole twitched slightly, mulling over the barrage of questions, before deciding to start at the beginning of the long list. "My name is Cole. I am a Spirit of Compassion. I helped the Inquisitor when an Envy demon attempted to seize her identity. Now I am part of her Inner Circle. She calls me her friend. I call her my friend." He gave a small smile as he subconsciously ran a hand over the patch on his hat. Farion's eyes followed Cole's fingers curiously, before the elf burst out laughing. Cole cocked his head in confusion, wondering what he could have done to provoke such a reaction.

"She did that, didn't she?" At Cole's continued look of bewilderment, Farion gestured to the patch. "She mended your hat. Does she still carry around her sewing kit wherever she goes?"

"She said she bought it in Val Royeaux not very long ago." Cole's brow furrowed. The Inquisitor was hard to read at the best of times; the Anchor's glow was rather overwhelming. Ever since he had dragged up the memories of Farion, her mind was a bit easier to read. The old wound had been reopened, the pain became fresh again, but before that? The Inquisitor held mystery no other mortal ever could to Cole. A white lie _could_ have slipped past Cole then, he realized.

"She _would_ say that, wouldn't she?" Farion smiled nostalgically. "She rarely ever told anyone about her sewing. I think she was self-conscious about the fact that every other stitch was a bit crooked. Silly, huh? Besides, crooked or not, it got the job done." He lifted up an arm to the light, showing Cole the underside of his sleeve. From the cuff of his robe to the elbow, a long row of stitches ran down a jagged rip. "Got that from a job near Weisshaupt during the Fifth Blight, nearly ten years ago. We signed on fighting the Darkspawn while there was a shortage of Grey Wardens. Sneaky Shriek snuck up behind me. I can remember-"

"'I told you to watch your back,' she shouts, her harsh hissing hitting the hurt. When I wince, she softens, the silk slipping over steel swiftly. My robe rests on her large lap as she sews the sleeve and seethes. 'You're good at a range, but in melee, those bastards will tear you apart.' The tent seems smaller and smaller as I softly simper, 'Lucky for me I have a big, strong Vashoth to save my sweet ass.'" Cole continued casually, unaware of Farion's flushed, flabbergasted face. "Her punch is playful, but it packs more power than probably intended. 'You're Vashoth too, regardless of how short you are.' Her words remind me of the Viddathari parents I never knew and fleeing the fate of a Saarebas. 'Just like how you're a woman, regardless of how giant your hands are.' The next punch isn't as playful."

"How do you-?!" Farion spluttered incoherently for a moment, struggling to wrap his mind around the embarrassing exposure it just experienced. "Ahem. Right. Spirit. Probably should have expected something like that. I'm guessing you've been digging around in Adaar's head, too, huh? You said she was hurting." His expression turned serious and he said in a low voice, "Please, tell me how I can help. What can I do? There's no reason you would come to me in the first place if I couldn't help."

Cole gazed back at Farion, his face mirroring the elf's grave visage. "The Inquisitor's head hangs heavy with hurt. A question nests in the center, tied in a thicket of tangles and thorns. I now know the answer to that question. I can finally sooth the sting, supply a salve." A smile stretched across Cole's face. "But only you can _truly_ heal the hurt. Come with me to Skyhold. We can finally put her mind at ease."

Much to Cole's surprise, Farion flinched at his request. "You want me to go to Skyhold? To see Adaar? I, uh, I'm not sure how that will go over. It might be best if you just go and tell her whatever you need to without me." At this, Cole's smile faltered, and he felt a new pain, quite similar to the Inquisitor's, tugging at his conscience. He had been so focused on the Inquisitor's, he had completely ignored this one. He stared into Farion's eyes, then past his eyes, deep towards the root of the suffering.

* * *

><p>"Damn, Adaar, I have to <em>hand<em> it to you, you really know how to _handle_ a man," Farion grinned, laying back against the bedroll. He glanced over at the woman beside him with smoky eyes dancing with amusement.

"It's a damn shame there isn't a man here to prove that. All I see is a smart-ass," the Vashoth rogue retorted. She rolled her shoulders back and rubbed her forehead wearily. "I, uh... That was something. Not sure what came over me."

"You mean, aside from me?" She shot a glowering look at the mage. His smirk dropped, confusion taking over his face instead. "You all right? You're acting kinda weird, Adaar-"

"I should go." She suddenly stood, looking around for her clothes. Farion's confusion, in turn, became shock.

"What? Just like that? Adaar, what are you-"

"Shut _up_." He caught sight of the panic on her face as she hastily gathered up her discarded armor. "I-I need to... I need to go."

"Adaar, talk to me," Farion pleaded weakly, helplessly watching her tear for the tent's exit. "What did I do wrong?"

But she was already gone.

* * *

><p>Cole's breathing was quicker, shallower; he didn't realize it. Quietly, almost subconsciously, he whispered, staring past Farion, into the bright turquoise flames:<p>

"She wasn't asking Farion. She was asking _herself_."


	7. Chapter 7 - Memory

"She wasn't asking Farion. She was asking _herself_."

The elven mage frowned hesitantly, shifting from foot to foot as he searched for the proper words. "Are you all right, ah, _Cole_, was it? Please, tell me what is happening. I am not a mind-reader, unlike you, apparently."

"She wanted to know if it was love or lust." Cole tore his eyes away from the shimmering veilfire. His face was the very picture of a final piece placed into a puzzle, realization rapidly dawning upon him. "She was not wondering if _you_ felt love or lust; she already knew _that_ answer. She delved to determine her _own_ desires. The mind is a murky mystery, muddled with mistaken murmurs. She still does not know. She will soon." Cole regarded Farion mournfully. "You must come to Skyhold. It is the only way."

Farion returned Cole's stare with a pained expression, before nodding, defeated. "Very well. If you are sure this will help Adaar, I will accompany you back to Skyhold. I..." He inhaled deeply, eyes shut. Cole silently allowed him to collect his thoughts; the spirit could see them whirling about in a frenzy. After a moment, he released his breath, running his slender hand through his hair. "I would be lying if I said I didn't want to hear her answer, after all this time. Things have been... rough, since the Conclave. And the whole 'Herald of Andraste' business? I can't imagine this has been easy for her, regardless of how she may make things seem."

"No, it has not been easy for her." Cole frowned, thinking back to all the remarkable and terrible things that had happened to the Inquisitor.

"And what about you?" Farion wondered suddenly, glancing at the spirit curiously.

"What about me?" Cole blinked slowly, not understanding the question.

Farion sighed patiently. "Has this been hard on you as well? I haven't met anyone this worried about someone else in a very long time. Although," he laughed, shaking his head. "I suppose it does make sense, coming from a Spirit of Compassion."

A tiny smile curved Cole's lips as he fiddled with his fingers subconsciously. "I like helping people. I am happy when they are happy. And the Inquisitor is my friend, so of course I should want her happy rather than hurt. I suppose..." His eyes rolled upwards slowly, fixing on the patch on his hat. It was true; every other stitch was slightly crooked. He imagined this was the result of her hands being too cramped in the tiny space. "I have heard the phrase 'kindred spirit' before. I suppose that is what she is to me. I can recognize her compassion, and I want to match it with my own." His eyes drifted back down and locked onto the elf once more. "She deserves no less, from me, or from you."

For the first time in their conversation, Cole could detect a burst of anger flaring up in Farion's chest, much to the former's surprise. "I never gave her anything less than everything I had to give!" he growled, glowering at Cole. "I was an ass sometimes, I admit, but I _never_ did her wrong, I swear it! I could never! And what did I get in return?" He whirled around, turning his back to Cole. The spirit could see his shoulders rising and falling tumultuously as Farion raised a shaking hand to clutch at his temples. A long, quivering breath escaped the mage as his fury fizzled down to a meek wisp. "Nothing," he finished in a whisper, still not facing Cole. "Nothing, except for questions and loneliness. And now, a spirit who thinks he knows better, telling me I didn't give enough." Finally, he turned, regarding Cole with a cold, stony glare. Behind the stoicism, Cole could still see the pain and sadness. "Who do you think you are, to tell me how to treat Adaar? I've known her for _years_. I've _loved_ her for years. You? You know _nothing_ of her!"

"That's _not_ true." Cole's quiet tone reverberated through the cave, trailing the echoes of Farion's shouts. "She is my _friend_. I am sorry it hurts. I know it does. A weathered, woeful wound will not wind up weak. The pain pulses; perhaps permanently. But you are not the only one who is hurt. I will try to help. Let me."

Farion sighed; he looked deflated, completely bereft of any will to continue his argument. "I already agreed to come," he said slowly. "I hope you understand my actions, Cole. This... well, I don't really know how any of this will end." And with those final morose words, he snuffed out the veilfire with an uncaring flick of the wrist, before heading down the winding tunnels.

Cole nodded, feeling a note of distress twinge in his chest, and followed suit after Farion. "I understand."

A vague memory reminded him to apologize to the nugs on the way back.

* * *

><p>Farion let out a breath of wonderment as he and Cole passed through the gates of the magnificent Skyhold.<p>

"So this is it," he murmured, clearly impressed as he stared around at the towering structures and mobs of the faithful. "The Inquisition has indeed done well for itself. Those two women, the Hands of the Divine, were they? They really know how to give rise to an organization, don't they?"

"Yes, I rather suppose we do, hm?" The musing tone sounded from the left of the courtyard, causing Farion to jump slightly. He turned to see a red-headed woman strolling slowly and deliberately towards them. "Cole, my scouts sent word of your movements in the Forbidden Oasis, along with Cullen's notifications as well. Care to explain yourself?"

Cole nodded, face blank. "Yes, Leliana, although I already told Cullen what I was doing. Did he not understand?"

Leliana laughed lightly, shaking her head. "No one really understands when it comes to you, Cole, save for perhaps Solas. But I digress; your explanation, please?" Her eyes flickered onto Farion for a mere half-second before returning to Cole. Farion felt the sneaking suspicion that she already knew precisely who he was.

"This is Farion," Cole began, gesturing earnestly to the elf. "We are going to speak to the Inquisitor."

Leliana sighed, rubbing her forehead. "Explanations are not your strong suit, Cole. No matter. The Inquisitor is a busy woman, but..." Her eyes held a mischievous glint that betrayed her otherwise stoic faced. "I am sure she will make time for you. Do be careful, however, next time you wander off by yourself. Varric would have a fit if anything happened to you, as would the Inquisitor I expect."

With her warning, she bowed her head slightly and waltzed nonchalantly on past the two. Cole continued towards the main hall of Skyhold without any further considerations, while Farion wondered bemusedly what sort of ulterior motives Leliana's words of caution might have held. The woman certainly had many secrets, no doubt about that.

* * *

><p>The Inquisitor looked up from her desk at the sound of knocking. A report from Cullen still in hand, she distractedly called out, "Door's unlocked; come in." Her brow furrowed in confusion as the top of a familiar hat poked over the railing of the stairs. "Cole, I'm surprised, you never bother knocking. What's the occasion-" Her voice failed her as the familiar figure followed behind Cole, lingering uncertainly by the railing. "<em>Farion<em>?"

"Hello, Adaar." The elf managed a small, unsure smile, glancing from the Inquisitor to Cole, then back to the Inquisitor. "I am glad to see you have indeed survived being dropped from the Fade onto your head."

His awkward grin fell from his face when she ignored the joke, instead turning a stony face to Cole. "Why would you bring him here?" she hissed furiously, causing Cole to twitch anxiously. "It was one thing to dig around in my head, but _this_? Inform me, would you, before you try to drag my past up against my will."

"Can't you see the sorrow is not solitary?" Cole pleaded, wringing his hands agitatedly. "Please, try to understand it isn't his fault."

"I _know_!" Farion flinched at her shout. She stood from her desk, slamming the report onto its surface. "I know it isn't his fault, it's mine! That's why I left, because he deserves better than someone like me. He deserves someone that knows herself well enough to give him what he needs."

"Can the two of you stop talking about me like I'm not here?" Farion interjected, quickly growing fed up with being treated like the furniture. "_I'll _decide who is good enough for me, thank you very much."

The Inquisitor stared down at her hands, a look of abashment flitting across her face. Cole could feel the hurt burning, the tangle tearing. After a moment of silence, the Inquisitor mumbled softly, more to herself than anyone else, "It was better off when I left. It was better when I couldn't remember, after I left the Fade, before you tried to 'fix' me, Cole..." She looked up, and her face seemed drained, exhausted. "Farion, please leave us. You might find the tavern comfortable." The elf said nothing, and left with shame written on his face.

The spirit watched him go distressfully, fidgeting about with his pale hands. Once the door shut with a soft thud, Cole turned to the Inquisitor worriedly. Her eyes stared past him, out the window toward the Frostback Mountains, and she spoke. The words caused Cole to freeze.

"It was better off before. I want to forget again."


	8. Chapter 8 - Forgotten

The tavern was not hard to find.

Trudging back through the grand hall he and Cole first passed through was automatic, and Farion hardly even noticed where he was going. Once the sunlight hit him, he became more aware of his surroundings, leaving him blinking miserably in the brisk mountain air. The sound of clinking mugs and laughter naturally pointed him toward a large wooden building in the courtyard, which he entered with dragging footsteps.

The bartender, a stocky dwarven fellow, cast him a look of pity as he slumped into a barstool. Farion mentally noted, with a mixture of humor and bitterness, that he must have looked quite pathetic. He tossed aside that notion with a snort; he knew it was true, he just didn't _care_ at that moment. He was determined to drown himself in beer and sorrow for the time being. It was all that spirit's fault. He brought it all up again. He should have left what didn't involve him alone. He should have-

"Hey! You! Who the _frig_ do you think you are, bumming out the tavern with your _elfy_ _somberness_?" Farion was shocked out of his stupor by the loud, demanding voice. He glanced to the right, seeing a blonde woman scowling at him, nose scrunched up in distaste. "What? Sad that no one gives two squirts about you and your precious trees? As shocking as it may be to you, the Inquisition has bigger purposes than a bunch of whiny Dalish tits."

Farion glanced at the girl's pointed ears and scoffed, turning back to his drink. He could practically feel the elf fuming beside him.

"You think you're better than me, is that it?" she huffed, slamming a hand on the bar.

"No. I think your complaints are ironic, that's all." He didn't bother looking at her when he spoke.

"Ironic? You wanna start making sense, pisser?"

He sighed in annoyance; surely, the Inquisition couldn't be _all_ like this one. "What is ironic is the fact that you're bashing _me_, while it's likely that _you_ are actually more _'elfy'_ than I am. I am not Dalish; I'm Qunari, Viddathari. Or, at least, I was. Tal-Vashoth now."

The blonde grimaced, before retorting, "Yeah, well, you're still stupid." At his lack of response, she put a hand on her hip. "And why are you here anyway? No one invited your sorry ass in here."

"Someone did, actually," he corrected dryly, taking a sip of his drink. The girl blinked, then grinned widely, plopping down beside him and leaning in.

"Oho, I _get_ it now. Someone invited you in, then kicked you to the curb. I know a look of rejection when I see one. So who finally got tired of your sack of bones in the sack, eh?"

Farion rolled his eyes; this girl was really starting to rattle his cage. "Do you know the Inquisitor?" He wasn't sure why he was telling her. Maybe he just needed to get it off his chest to someone he would make sure to _never_ see again.

"Well, yeah, everyone knows the Inquisitor. But _I'm_ part of her little party. 'Cause I'm special and shite. Why you askin' about her?" She frowned, brows furrowed. Farion shot her an incredulous stare. A moment later, realization shot across her face. "You did it with the _Inquisitor_?"

"Eloquently put, but yes."

An uncontrollable giggle fit sounded immediately after that confirmation. "You did it with the Inquisitor! And she threw you out!" The woman cackled in delight, nearly falling off her stool. "I mean, I don't blame ya for that one. Them Qunari ladies, yeah? _Woof_. Right fit, they are. But you got thrown out! Good on you, uh..." She paused to look at him questioningly.

"Farion," he answered flatly, finishing his tankard glumly.

"Right, and I'm Sera." He raised an eyebrow at her, his face still gloomy. She defensively stated, "Hey, like I said, you're still stupid, but I just feel bad for you."

"Well, don't. I'm not looking for your pity." He stubbornly raised his mug, disappointed to find it empty. He gestured to the bartender wordlessly for another.

"_Fine_, be that way, Farinio." Butchering his name completely, Sera stuck her tongue out at him in a display of utmost maturity, before pushing herself off the stool. As she walked away, she said quietly, "Look, drinking is supposed to be a _celebratory_ thing, yeah? Stop moping, do something about your wishy-washy state, _then_ drink. Man up, ya knob."

He pretended he had not heard her, but secretly, her words put him deep into thought.

* * *

><p>"I want to forget again. You can do that, can't you? Make me forget? Cole, <em>please<em>."

The spirit said nothing; he could not find his words, no matter how hard he tried. He simply stared at the Inquisitor, trembling with a wild look of desperation in her eyes. '_This is not her_,' he thought distressfully. '_I did this. How could I do it so wrong?_' After a moment of inner debate, he slowly stammered out, "My powers are most reliable when I use them on myself."

"I heard you talking to Varric! I know you can apply your powers to other people! Please!" The Inquisitor fell to her knees, eyes shut tight. Cole could feel the weight of her mind shifting and churning, the pain starting to boil over. Being the Inquisitor meant she was responsible for countless lives, he knew. That stress, added to that of her own life, was just too much; Cole could hardly bear to see her usual cheerful demeanor snapping so drastically. "I'm _begging_ you, Cole. Just make him disappear from my life. I'll never ask for anything from you ever again, I _swear_ it."

That was all he could take. Inhaling deeply, readying himself for the massive burst of power he was about to expend, he nodded. "Very well, Inquisitor. Come closer."

A wave of relief and gratitude passed over the Inquisitor's face as she scrambled to her feet. "You-you mean it? You'll make me forget?"

"Yes." When she was within arms-reach of him, he forced his own willpower into her mind, puffs of swirling smoke curling around them. Grasping the painful memories of Farion with all his being, Cole tugged them out of her head with all his might. In a surge of pure energy, he retracted from the Inquisitor's mind, huffing heavily. Vaguely, he could sense her mind reacting to the sudden void, filling in the gaps with images that made sense to her. But for the moment, his main focus was on how utterly exhausted he suddenly felt.

The Inquisitor's face was smooth, tranquil, completely blank. Her mind was hazy, as if a fog was engulfing any sort of rational thought. For a moment, she couldn't think of who she was or where she was, until she noticed the thin young man before her stumbling to the ground.

"Cole!" With a cry of alarm, she rushed to his side, propping him up against her arm. "Are you all right? What's wrong? What are you doing here?"

"I... am fine, Inquisitor," he mumbled disconcertedly, blinking rapidly. "It is done now."

"Are you sure?" Still unsure about his actual reasoning for being there, she shrugged it off as another odd action of Cole. "Tell me if something really is wrong. I don't want to see you hurt, okay?" And, much to both his and her surprise, she pulled him close into a hug. There was a tight constriction in her chest that she didn't quite understand, slowly loosening as if her worries were all vanishing into thin air. Quivering, she realized there were tears in her eyes. She hadn't cried in a very long time, not since-

She could not remember the last time. It was as if the memory had been plucked clean out of her skull.

"Don't you dare get hurt on my watch, you got that, Cole?" she mumbled, clutching him tightly to her chest. "If you do, I'll kill every single son of a bitch that lays a _finger_ on you, then I'll kill you _myself_."

Cole shifted in her arms, not sure he should fear for her sanity or his life more. "I-I will try not to get hurt."

"Good." The Inquisitor closed her eyes, wondering why she kept getting the feeling that she was forgetting something dearly important. "_Good_."


	9. Chapter 9 - Burn

Cole stared at his feet intently, placing them carefully on the stone steps. The snow was building up on the stairs, causing them to become excessively slippery, as Cassandra had learned just a few moments prior. He glanced behind him at the bodies strewn about the courtyard carelessly, glowing with bright red lyrium. The red Templars were dangerous foes, but the Emprise du Lion would be free of them, and the demon clutching their leash, very soon.

"Where is this creature? Is it nearby?" Dorian huffed impatiently to Cole's right. "We cannot get out of this wretched cold soon enough."

"I told you to wear warmer boots," the Inquisitor laughed, grinning over her shoulder at the Tevinter man. "You never listen every time I warn you, and every time you complain that your feet are freezing."

"My dear Inquisitor, some of us have _standards_! You should speak to Leliana, that woman knows _everything _there is to know about shoes. She agrees, those drab Ferelden boots are just so painfully shapeless and ugly. Our enemies deserve to at least recognize how impeccably _fabulous_ the Inquisition is before we gut them like fish, yes? Image is important, after all." Dorian winked at Cole amicably, while Cassandra grunted in annoyance.

"Let us just focus on the task at hand," the Nevarran warrior grumbled, still brushing the snow off her armor. "The demon must be close."

"Right, right. Be on your guards, everyone, it's supposed to be a tricky son of a bitch," the Inquisitor warned wearily. No more than a few minutes later, the party passed through a broken stone archway into a large open courtyard. In the center stood what appeared to be a man, as normal as any other. A wide smile seemed to be fixed upon his face as they approached, his eyes never leaving the Inquisitor's face once.

"Ah, you have arrived. I was wondering how long it would take before we could put aside all this wanton slaughter and speak like civilized creatures. Did you have a nice trip?" He glanced at Cassandra with a slight snicker upon his last remark, and her face flushed a bright red in embarrassment and fury.

"You are _dead_, creature-" Cassandra started to charge forward, only to be halted by the Inquisitor's arm.

"Wait. I want to hear what the demon has to say." The Inquisitor stared at the being before them, who gave an irritated sigh in response.

"Please, I am a '_choice spirit_,' thank you very much. But at least you possess some manners, dear girl, that is something that is absent so often nowadays." The creature straightened, then bowed grandiosely. "I am Imshael, as I am sure you all know by now. And contrary to what some of you might think," he paused, allowing his gaze to rest on Cassandra for a few seconds, before continuing, "Further bloodshed is not necessary. I present you, instead, with a choice."

"Oh, yes, because this never goes poorly," Dorian hummed, examining his nails nonchalantly. "Let me know when you decide to kill it."

Imshael scowled disapprovingly at the mage, but his unsettlingly pleasant smile returned quickly. "Now, I could grant you any number of great boons in exchange for my life. Wealth beyond your wildest dreams? Oh, yes. Power, to part seas and make mountains quake? Of course. Shower you with virgins? The possibilities are limitless."

Cole let his eyes flicker to the Inquisitor. Now that her immense pain had dissipated, she was back to her blinding glow. He could hardly get a read on her at that moment, but, externally, she appeared completely and utterly calm.

"What fun!" The Inquisitor laughed cheerfully. "I wish to be showered with virgins, then."

At that proclamation, Dorian bit back a noise that was halfway between laughter and choking. Cassandra whipped her head around to stare at the Inquisitor like the Blight had just overtaken her. "Inquisitor, you cannot be _serious_," she groaned incredulously. The Inquisitor waved Cassandra's plea off carelessly, still smiling at Imshael warmly. The demon sighed and shook his head.

"I am not sure why I keep advertising that choice; have you any mind of how difficult it is to find a virgin, let alone a _shower_ of them, in modern Thedas? Absolutely backbreaking work, I tell you-" His eyes trailed to Cole and he laughed. "Oh, never mind, found one! How kind of you to bring your own. Although..." He scrunched his nose up as he examined Cole further. "You probably don't want _that_ one. How about a nice, shiny rune instead? Look! It's so bright and powerful-looking! So why don't you take that instead, then be on your way? I live, you live, everyone's happy!"

The Inquisitor's party regarded the Inquisitor with varying degrees of bafflement, their expressions only magnified when she happily responded, "No deal! Time to die, demon!"

"Oh, for pride's sake, it's _CHOICE_ spirit!"

* * *

><p>"I swear, it's like you're not even<em> trying<em> to keep your hat intact anymore."

Cole was expecting the Inquisitor this time, yet he could not help but feel joy bubbling up inside of him. He was not certain that he resolved her situation with Farion as best as he could, but all the same, he was immensely relieved that the hurt no longer ate at her, constantly fraying and tearing her inside. He smiled at her as she lingered by the attic stairs, shaking her head in mock disappointment. Normally, he had trouble differentiating the pretend from the real, but something about the Inquisitor's style was so refreshingly obvious, even to a spirit.

"Well, I suppose it can't be helped." She heaved an exaggerated sigh, approaching her usual seat of crates with her sewing kit in hand and a damp sponge in the other. "Gimme."

He obediently lifted his hat, gazing at the blaring burn mark on the fabric. He handed it to her, sitting down beside her to watch carefully.

"You have one of the toughest garments I've ever encountered right here. How it's still together at all is a mystery to rival the Maker Himself," the Inquisitor marveled, gently scrubbing at the charred spot with the sponge. "That Imshael, though, he was a piece of work, huh? What a fight. Amazing you got out with just a burn on your hat."

"He was interesting. And evil. He hurt so many people, even the Templars." Cole twitched his fingers, mimicking the Inquisitor's motions.

"That he did. I'm glad we put an end to him," she concurred solemnly.

Cole tilted his head to the side, the question that had been tugging at his mind for awhile breaking past his lips. "Were you serious about letting him live if he gave you virgins?"

The Inquisitor snorted playfully. "Of course not. I was simply having a bit of fun. I know exactly how difficult it is to find virgins in this day and age, I was just stringing that demon along for a little while. Speaking of which..." The corners of her mouth twitched upward slightly. "I recall Solas inquiring about this particular subject as well. You've had no interest in anyone romantically or physically since you left the Fade?"

"No." Cole frowned. The very idea confused him to no end. "I do not understand why I should."

"Nobody said you should, Cole, I was simply asking." She continued working on the hat in silence; most of the singed blackness was gone.

The spirit thought deeply about the question. Soon, another popped into his head. He glanced at the Inquisitor hesitantly, wondering how she would react. She would surely have no remembrance of the fact that it was her _own_ question. "Inquisitor, do you believe there is a difference between love and lust?" She stopped her work, staring at him in surprise.

"Why would you ask that?"

"I am curious."

"Apparently. Well..." She leaned back, gazing at the ceiling with a thoughtful expression, before turning back to him with a grin. She reached out to wrap a long arm around Cole's shoulder in an affectionate squeeze. "Yes, definitely. You've shown me, if nothing else, that I can love someone without lust having anything to do with the matter. Does that answer your question?"

He did not know which warmed him more, her arm or her words. He smiled and nodded. "Yes. Thank you, Inquisitor."

"Anytime, Cole." With a flourish, she displayed his newly mended hat. "And here you go. Perfect!" She stood and placed it on his head, starting towards the stairs. "Josie said I need to meet with the Comte du Ghislain soon, so I'm afraid I can't stay. Let me know if you need me." With a wave, the Inquisitor quickly went down the stairs. Almost running through the tavern, she cast a glance towards the bar, spotting Sera, whose back was towards the Inquisitor. The archer seemed to be speaking to a robed elf; an unlikely duo, to be sure!

Chuckling at the thought, she took off towards the grand hall without any further delay.


	10. Chapter 10 - Journey

"Inquisitor, there is something that has come to my attention that I think will interest you greatly."

The Inquisitor looked up from her desk, relieved to see Leliana standing at the head of the stairs. The promise of intriguing news was something the Inquisitor desperately desired, if only to escape from the mounds of tedious paperwork and delicate diplomatic discussion needed after her meeting with the Comte du Ghislain.

"Is that so?" The Inquisitor stood, gesturing for the spymaster to take a seat and join her. Leliana bowed her head with a gracious smile and accepted the chair. Despite their closeness in both work and friendship, Leliana always retained a cautiously polite air. Whether this manner of acting was an aftereffect of her little episode back in Haven or simply habitual from the discreet subtlety her line of work required, the Inquisitor could not tell. She did not care to ask, either. "Well, do continue, please. I'll take anything over these convoluted politics. It's like the Winter Palace all over again."

Leliana laughed lightly. "Why, I think you handled the Game admirably that night. The Empress has pledged her support and her armies to us, Corypheus' nefarious plot has been stalled, and Florianne now serves as jester to our court. I do not see how it could have gone better."

"Fair enough," the Inquisitor mused, settled back into her chair. She toyed with the quill on her desk pensively, before glancing back up at her spymaster. "But I digress; what news do you bring?"

"It involves the mage and Templar we rescued several weeks back; Rhys and Evangeline. They have been working diligently with Cullen's forces near Val Firmin for the past while, and they've recently come up with something... curious." Leliana paused, staring at the Inquisitor quizzically. The Vashoth woman returned her gaze with a furrowed brow.

"Rhys? Cole's old friend?"

"It would appear so. There has been nothing out of the usual in that area for quite some time, aside from periodical attacks from Corypheus' forces. But once we sent the two of them to the field, it was revealed there is far more going on in Val Firmin than we thought." Leliana leaned forward in her chair, frowning. "Are you aware that Rhys is a medium? He is far more in-tune with spirits and other inhabitants of the Fade than most mages. That is how he came to befriend Cole, so I understand, when he still occupied the White Spire. When he and Evangeline arrived at Val Firmin, he discovered that the area is teeming with spiritual activity. By himself, he's not able to further investigations effectively. For his own safety, along with that of the people of Val Firmin, he requires mage and Templar assistance to properly conduct the necessary rituals to uncover the reasons behind all this."

"I see." Vexed, the Inquisitor considered the report. "I will set off for Val Firmin presently. Consult with Ser Barris, to procure some available Templars for the job, and round up a few mages as well. I'm sure Vivienne will be happy to assist in that regard. I need some time to prepare."

"Of course, Your Worship." Leliana nodded in approval, before making to carry out the orders. And although she remained perfectly stoic, she had an idea of what sort of "preparations" the Inquisitor might make.

* * *

><p>Cole hung over the wooden railing curiously, staring down into the lively bar below. The tavern attic was the perfect place for him. Cool, dark, uninhabited, but just close enough to people of all sorts. It was a fantastic place to watch and listen.<p>

His attention was, at that moment, locked on Sera. The archer rarely left the tavern unless the Inquisitor summoned her to the party, or a playful prank had planted itself inside her head. Cole liked Sera, even if the feeling wasn't mutual, and he was utterly fascinated by her. Particularly just then, because she had recently crossed paths with yet another target of Cole's interest; Farion.

Lately, he had spotted the two of them sharing drinks and discussing something, oftentimes with Sera appearing uncharacteristically serious about it. The profound change in her mannerisms when she wasn't aware of his scrutiny solidified his belief that there was far more to her than her raunchy, loud-mouthed persona.

As for Farion... Cole was perplexed that he was still at Skyhold. After the Inquisitor's icy reception of Farion's presence, Cole had fully expected the mage to go back to the Valo-Kas mercenaries. Instead, he stayed. Cole anxiously kept an eye on him, dreading what might happen if he decided to confront the Inquisitor, who was now blissfully unaware of his very existence.

"What are you looking at, Cole?"

Cole reeled back from the railing as if the dark wood had struck him with lightning. He whirled around to see the Inquisitor standing in the threshold to the ramparts with wide eyes.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," she said sheepishly, still rooted to the spot. "It's just, you seemed so intent, I was curious."

"It is... nothing, Inquisitor," he lied breathlessly, eyes flickering to anywhere that wasn't her face.

She frowned, clearly aware that it was _not_ nothing, but did not question him further, to his relief. "We're heading to Val Firmin very soon on very important business. Would you do me a favor and tell Solas and Blackwall this? I want to leave as soon as possible." Cole could still not get a reading on her, the Mark proving yet again to be far too blinding. Regardless, he nodded his assent.

"Yes, Inquisitor. I'll go tell them now."

* * *

><p>The road to Val Firmin was long, and the accompanying troupe of mages and Templars called for wagons rather than traveling by foot.<p>

The lead cart, drawn by Master Dennet's sturdiest steeds, carried none other than the Inquisitor and her party, along with a scrawny boy in his late teenage years to hold the reins. It was an experience much different than the hours of walking to which the members of the Inner Circle were used accustomed, to be sure.

"You've been rather quiet about this little excursion, Inquisitor. Care to share what's going on?" The silence had finally been broken by Blackwall. "Must be big to require such a large procession, and I don't like being in the dark."

"I would have to agree," Solas conceded, looking to the Inquisitor. "It would not hurt to know our surroundings before setting foot in the darkness, yes?"

The Inquisitor sighed, rubbing her eyes tiredly. She could not remember the last time she had gotten a decent moment of rest, so she was sorely thankful for not having to march to Val Firmin. "A couple of our... agents... caught wind of some trouble in the area. Well, not so much '_caught wind of'_ as they did discover the mess. There is a high concentration of spirits in Val Firmin, which was previously a rather quiet area, so we're going to get to the bottom of what in the Maker's name is going on over there."

"_Agents_, eh? How come they were able to find what none of our other men could?" Blackwall frowned.

The Inquisitor hesitated, glancing at Cole. The spirit seemed to be paying them no attention whatsoever, gazing out at the passing scenery silently. According to a letter from Rhys, he and Cole did not depart on the best of terms, though apparently there was no lingering resentment between the two, as far as she could tell. She couldn't help but wonder how their reunion would go.

"Well... you'll see when we get to Val Firmin."

It was going to be a long journey indeed.


	11. Chapter 11 - Past

"Oh, are you the new guy? Boss mentioned that a mage just signed on. Funny, I thought you'd be taller."

Farion stared at the woman before him, with her head tilted curiously as if she had just stumbled upon some profoundly intriguing happenstance. She looked like any native Qunari woman: gray-skinned, horned, impossibly tall, and built to tank. Eyes twitching slightly, he averted his eyes to the ground and said nothing.

"You got away before they could make you full Saarebas, didn't you?" She inspected him dubiously, obviously wondering if his silence was due to a lack of tongue. After a moment of further inspection, she nodded in affirmation to herself. "I'm sure you did. You wouldn't be here if you didn't. I mean, of course there's Kost, but he's the exception. We're... not really sure what his deal is, actually."

His eyes narrowed slightly in annoyance, and he nodded mutely his assent. This action caused her to toss her large hands into the air in dismay.

"Oh, come _on_, now you're just fucking with me," she cried exasperatedly, plopping down onto a nearby rock. Shaking her head, she observed him further. "Actually, no, you're not, I'd probably tear you in two like a wet tissue." She laughed cheerily at his indignant expression, carelessly tossing twigs into the nearest fire. "But I digress, welcome aboard. The name's Adaar. I'll assume you got a name, too?"

* * *

><p>The Valo-Kas camp was relatively small, with a sparse number of tents and even fewer fire-pits. To any random passerby, it would appear to be little more than an underwhelming group of adventurers, though the chances of "random passerby" appearing were extremely low. Few travelers aside from the immensely brave and the immensely stupid even dared to venture through the hazardous forests known as the Korcari Wilds. The Valo-Kas mercenaries dabbled in a bit of both categories, a fact that they acknowledged with pride.<p>

"Finding a whore in the slums of Denerim would be harder than finding a job we're willing to finish!" Shokrakar always assured their patrons jovially. "We'll take on anything you've got with a ready grin and a readier sword, so long as you provide the pay. Just don't think we won't skewer you alive if you try 'n skimp us on the coin. These horns aren't just for show, you can be sure of that." She wasn't exaggerating in any case; when presented with a job of navigating the deadly Wilds, Shokrakar accepted without hesitation.

Farion had been only slightly unsure when he joined up with the Valo-Kas. Being both an elf _and_ a mage set him drastically apart from the others, but he might as well have been seven feet tall and horned from the way they treated him.

"Just 'cause you're prettier than any of the ladies on board here, don't think you're getting special treatment," Shokrakar had informed him with a good-natured slap on the back, which nearly sent him flying. "Far as we're concerned, you're just as Vashoth as any of us. Watch our backs, and we'll watch yours. Hope you can knock back a pint, at least, or you're gonna have a rough time when we finish a job."

As for his magical talents, he was not the only mage on the Valo-Kas. Another mage, whom the other mercenaries referred to as '_Kost_', belonged to the Valo-Kas, though Farion did not revel in their mystical similarities; indeed, Kost had not spoken a single word to Farion since he joined. But then again, he was uncertain if Kost's silence was due to indifference or inability. The stoic mage's robes were topped off by a very high collar, obscuring the lower half of his face entirely. Whether he was a muted Saarebas that somehow rebelled to become Tal-Vashoth or he simply did not wish to speak was a mystery Farion doubted he would ever find the answer to. He doubted any of the others, perhaps save for Shokrakar, knew. Aside from the obvious lack of communication, Farion saw little similarity between Kost and himself, even with their arcane ties. He focused most of his energy into spirit magic and healing, something any decent and foolhardy mercenary group desperately needed. Kost mastered destructive elements that wreaked havoc on the battlefield, much to the dismay of their enemies.

All the same, Farion was welcome amongst the Valo-Kas, a feeling he had never received within the Qun.

He remembered how scared he had felt, at the age of seven, when his mother brought him to Seheron. She had explained as best as she could that the Qun offered the two of them a clean slate, even if it did mean forcing them apart. After all, Qunari had no parents. She begged him to promise her that he would never speak of the accident in the Alienage back in Denerim that forced them to flee, lest his slate be marred so quickly. He had not at the time realized just how important the keeping of this oath would be; he had not known that just one slip of a magical wisp could lose him not only his freedoms, but literally his voice as well.

Regardless of his ignorance, he hid his talents as best he could; a difficult task, to be sure. Unfortunately, as he aged, his raw power only magnified within him. Upon realizing he could not hide it any longer, he carefully stowed away on an Orlesian merchant boat, posing as a lowly servant. His plan succeeded and he escaped the shackles that would have inevitably bound his hands sooner or later, had he remained.

And suddenly, he found himself alone in the great land of Orlais.

Though he hated to admit it to himself, he was at a complete loss. His childhood was spent in a closed off Alienage, and then it was suddenly sheared with an uncontrollable burst of magic and an accidental casualty. The next ten years were spent as one of the Viddathari, confined to a role in the Qun he never really wanted. And now he was free from those previous lives, free to choose as he pleased. No more closed gates, no more confinement!

And yet, all he really knew was the Qun.

He might not have agreed with what it taught, but it still filled the majority of his head. And as he was now painfully aware of his new status of Tal-Vashoth, he felt compelled to flock to others of his kind. A bit of asking around seedy taverns and outposts led him straight to what he sought. His decided fate came in the form of the Valo-Kas. Perhaps this destiny was not what he expected as a lad, gazing lazily through the leaves of the great tree in the Alienage. But looking back on it, he would not choose any other life.

* * *

><p>"The name's Adaar. I'll assume you got a name, too?"<p>

"Farion." The look of delight his simple answer received from the woman made his mouth twist; in amusement or annoyance, he wasn't quite sure. "Or at least, that's what I was called before I was brought to Seheron."

"So you _can_ speak. Excellent. We already have one wordless mage, and that's plenty. So, tell me about yourself, Farion. We have time while the scouts are poking around the Wilds. The Valo-Kas is a family, albeit a violent, drunken one. Let's be friends, shall we?" She smiled brightly, reaching out a hand easily. After a moment's consideration, he accepted the handshake, inwardly taken aback by the size of her offered hand.

"Do they even _make_ gloves that size?" he muttered to himself in wonderment. His comment earned him a swift knock to the head.

"Wise up, ya smart-ass." Her tone was stern, but her humorous expression betrayed any real anger. She grinned and stood, noticing scouts returning from the forest. "Time to carve a path, hm? After you. Ladies first, of course." Laughing at the mage who could not quite reach her head, she instead received a knock to the shoulder. "Fair enough, Farion."

* * *

><p>"Hey, you're gettin' that wistful look again. Forget the past, own the day, remember?"<p>

Farion caught Sera's annoyed glare as he was jarred back into the present. The tavern was quieter than usual, as many of the people who usually inhabited it were gone for Val Firmin with the Inquisitor. He grunted, shaking the tiredness out of his head. "Right, right."

The crude archer pouted at his continued distractedness. "I'll tell you right now, you're being a shite drinking buddy. After all I've taught you on how to _not_ be a shite drinking buddy! If you're still caught up on it, why haven't you _done_ anything about it?"

"I can't. Not right now anyway. I will, though. Soon." He stared broodily off into space. Sera rolled her eyes at the display.

"Yeah, yeah. Once that little parade returns from Val Firmin, you're talking to the Inquisitor at once. No excuses!"

Farion couldn't help but laugh slightly, cheered by her thinly veiled concern. "All right, Sera. I'll do it."

"Good, innit?" She shot him a cheeky grin. "Now _drink_!"


	12. Chapter 12 - Grace

"I still do not understand. One can stand above an angel's grace, ignoring swords and wings, but falters to the bottom with a felled hand by the serpent's bite. Varric explains it better."

"Look, if Varric were here, he could hold your hand and walk you through every round, but he's not," Blackwall grunted, his frustration with the spirit visibly coming to a boil as he glared at his cards. "Just play the damned game, _without_ telling us the suits' life stories."

"Oh. I will try." Cole meekly hid behind his own hand of cards, trying to figure out the discreet machinations of Wicked Grace. Every time he played, he forgot the rules. It took a long time for Varric to patiently explain that reading the minds of other players would, by most peoples' accounts, be considered cheating and deeply frowned upon. Though Blackwall had considerably less patience than Varric, he understood Cole's difficulties; his infuriation at that moment mostly stemmed from how utterly unhelpful the Inquisitor and Solas were being.

They seemed more than content to silently observe their own hands with twinkling eyes and smirks hidden behind their cards.

Two days had passed since the dawn they left Skyhold for Val Firmin, and they were already partway through the third. They only stopped briefly every night for a few hours rest and to tend to the horses and supplies. Slight tensions pulsed between the Templars and the mages, but no real conflict came to a head at any point. The fact that they all served under the Inquisition banner managed to keep things relatively civil, at the very least.

Cole stared at the cards uncertainly; a pair of songs, lettered twilight and mercy. Three knights: wisdom, roses, sacrifice. He reached for the deck set in the center of the wagon, drawing a card and gazing blankly at what it depicted. The Angel of Death. He laid it down before him, the others exhaling at the sight of it.

"Well, that is the end of this round. Inquisitor, would you be so kind as to start the reveal?" Solas smiled at her affably, gesturing to her hand. She wrinkled her nose slightly, laying down her cards; two daggers and three unmatched spares. Blackwall revealed his next, a slightly better hand of two serpents of lust and deceit and two songs of temerity and fortune, along with a knight. Cole laid his cards down, earning a laugh from the bearded man to his right.

"A full house. Not bad, Cole." His annoyance from earlier dissolving, Blackwall clapped him on the back jovially. "Got some good luck this round."

"Indeed he has," Solas hummed, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. "However, I seem to have even better luck." Blackwall gawked at the five angels the mage revealed; truth, charity, fortitude, dignity, and faith.

"No shit. Five of a kind." Blackwall shook his head in disbelief. "Glad we're not playing for keeps here. I'll say, I've never played against someone who cheats as well as you do, Solas."

Solas laughed cheerily. "Whatever could give you the impression that I am cheating?"

"No one's luck is _that_ good," the Inquisitor chimed in. "And me? I've just got the absolute _worst_ luck. Can't you rub some of yours off on me?" She jokingly bumped her shoulder against his, nearly unseating the significantly smaller elf. He retained his balanced with a slight smile.

"I'm afraid I can't change your luck. The world seems determined to throw nothing but adversity in your path."

"Eh, it hasn't been all that bad," she shrugged nonchalantly, winking humorously across the wagon at Cole. "We've been able to get a lot done for the greater good, have we not?"

"Fair enough, Inquisitor," Solas mused, taking the deck and shuffling it for the next round of Wicked Grace. Blackwall scowled at that.

"How come _you_ get to shuffle? I bet that's where your 'luck' is coming from," he accused, reaching for the cards. "Allow me."

The deck remained in the elf's hands. "That's absolutely preposterous. And how do we know _you_ are not going to cheat? Perhaps we should let Cole shuffle instead. He clearly has no intention of gaining an unfair advantage, unlike some." Blackwall didn't appear entirely convinced, but he begrudgingly gave a grunt of accord. The Inquisitor carelessly shrugged, seemingly fine with the solution. Pleased with the agreement, Solas carefully handed the deck of cards over to Cole for shuffling.

The cards promptly slipped from his fingers and scattered to the wind.

* * *

><p>"I said I was sorry..."<p>

Blackwall still had not spoken a word to Cole since the tragic loss of his Wicked Grace deck. The spirit fidgeted worrisomely, casting feverish glances to the man at his side and apologizing profusely every minute or so. Once or twice, the Inquisitor caught a tiny smirk behind Blackwall's tangled mess of facial hair. Part of her found his little joke on Cole absolutely hilarious, while the rest of her could not bear the distraught look of utter bewilderment and shame on Cole's face. Finding she could take no more of his sad-puppy look, she leaned towards him.

"Cole," she hummed gently. He looked up at her quickly with huge, pale eyes and an anxious frown, begging for some answer to his problem. She smiled reassuringly, amazed that such a creature could maintain such an air of adorable naïveté. "He's joking."

Immediately Cole perked up, whirling about to face Blackwall excitedly. Clinging to the Warden's arm, he breathed, "Really? You're not angry?"

Blackwall rolled his eyes. "Of course not. You are far too easy to trick, Cole."

"Or perhaps you are far too good at tricking." Cole caught Blackwall's sharp stare with his steady gaze, before relinquishing Blackwall's arm. Relieved, Cole exclaimed, "I am glad you are not mad. I was worried."

"You know, for someone who kills hundreds of bloody things every other day, you've got some real thin skin," Blackwall grunted, his voice shaking slightly. He cleared his throat and glanced at the other two passengers in the wagon; they seemed to have not noticed anything odd about his and Cole's exchange, thankfully. Cole frowned at his comment, poking at his own pale arm.

"My skin seems normal to me..." Blackwall's sarcastic retort was cut short by an abrupt lurch of the wagon. The scrawny driver murmured to the horses, and they settled to a complete stop. He turned apologetically to the passengers, not looking them in their faces.

"Val Firmin, your Worship." He quickly turned away from them, making a grand show of busying himself with the reins.

"Thank you, Markus," the Inquisitor said kindly. The boy didn't turn around or respond in more than a grunt of acknowledgment, though Cole could see his ears turn red at the simple words of gratitude. He could sense fleeting feelings of embarrassment and shyness flurrying together with utmost delight, _'The Inquisitor has _noticed_ me! She knows my name!' _Cole wondered idly how she knew the boy's name. The Inquisitor stood, climbing down from the wagon, followed by her three companions. She glanced around; vast plains surrounding the dusty road, tinged by far off forests and a looming keep on the horizon. Night was almost upon the Inquisition travelers, and the Inquisitor could make out blazing dots of fire in the distance, the signs of Inquisition camps. "The agents we are looking for should be nearby. They said they'd be closer to the forests, I believe."

"Ah, the Inquisitor, no doubt. Charmed to finally meet you." A pleasantly silky voiced greeted the party, one that made Cole nearly jump out of his skin. Turning to face the source of the voice, two figures came out of the darkness towards them. It was clear that, though these two were very close to forty years of age, they both possessed very attractive features. The robed male's dark hair and beard were streaked with distinguished accents of grey and his eyes held a friendly warmth. The woman, dressed in very sensible heavy armor, had a face seemingly carved out of fine porcelain, framed by shining black hair tucked back out of the way. Though stunningly beautiful, she lacked the inherent sense of charisma the mage beside her held. Despite the handsome features of the pair, they were both obviously weighted down by an overwhelming weariness. "The two of us owe you our lives, so we thought we might be able to repay you with fixing this mess. I suppose it would be best if we got things underway-"

The man froze, his eyes lingering, past the Inquisitor, onto the slight, paled young man with the bewildered expression of a startled doe. A moment of silence stretched on for years, until the mage spoke with a strained tone.

"Cole? Is that you?"


	13. Chapter 13 - Spire

Even before the winds of rebellion rocked its massive structure, the White Spire had been a waking nightmare.

To the mages within, the Spire stood testament to the ever-shortening leash imposed upon them by the Templars. Although this fact was wholly undisputed, there was a rift amongst the factions of mages that divided them even further along the precarious topic of their independence. The Loyalists, aware of both their confinement in the Spire and their utter solitude in the world outside, remained firmly dedicated to the Circle and all it stood for, desperately doing their best to not provoke the wrath of the Templars. The Libertarians, on the other hand, sought for the exact opposite. They desired to be free of the chains they were given solely on behalf of something they had no control over. Any mage in the Spire that did not conform to one of these groups simply wished to be left alone and out of the Pit.

Fear of the dark and desolate Pit was greatly magnified in the months after the infamous Kirkwall Rebellion, on account of several reasons.

The first was obvious to any mage or Templar; after what one madman in Kirkwall did, it was inevitable that the idea, no matter how outrageous or impossible it might be, of rebellion and liberation in other Circles would slither into the minds of weak-willed and desperate mages. Thus, as a precaution, the Templars cracked down on any suspicion activity with the fury of the Maker at their backs, so they claimed. Any possible threat, real or imaginary, was treated the same, and the unfortunate perpetrators were thrown in the Pit, left in the cramped dungeons for days on end. The numerous cells were fuller than they had been in years, and this fact was prevalent in the minds of every one of the Spire's occupants.

The second reason was not quite as concrete.

Following the explosion of the Kirkwall Chantry, rumors flitted about the tower of some elusive specter preying upon those helpless deep in the Pit. Dubbed '_the Ghost of the Spire_' by gossiping mages and nervous Templars, whispers of an eerily pale boy whom many claimed to have caught a fleeting glimpse of circulated constantly in low undertones, never quite bubbling to the surface of Circle life. An uneasy superstition that caused every apprentice to jump at their shadows, caused every lone guard to warily reconsider nodding off at their posts each night.

The superstitions caused Cole's stomach to turn every time he overheard his epithet slip from behind a hiding hand.

He didn't like the attention. Though he knew he was invisible to all that had no need for him, his face grew hot and embarrassed every time he was the topic of conversation. He would stand, not three feet from the gossipers, and listen, completely undetected by the people who were so alert to everything else that happened in the vicinity. Those that _did_ have need for him, that was another story.

He would find them, beaten and sobbing, curled up in the tiny cells in the Pit, dreading the moment when the Templars would return to beat them some more. Sometimes they were Libertarians who stepped too far out of line. Sometimes they were apprentices who made one small mistake with too many big consequences. More often than not, they were young, terrified mages who had just recently discovered their talents, or curse, as many came to believe. These mages, most little more than children, were brought in from the shunning outside world by rough and apathetic Templars and taught to understand the gravity of their offense of possessing magic. Their beatings came in infrequent bursts and often they were simply forgotten about, left to whimper pitifully with no one to offer any sympathy or hope.

Except for Cole.

He always followed the same pattern with his mercy. He would first lift the ring of keys off a careless guards belt, slowly and surely coming to stand outside a locked cell door. The darkened bars allowed for the plaintive wails within to faintly wend their way out, not quite reaching the ears of the Templars. Patiently trying out each key until he found the door's match, he would gently open the door and slip inside with nary a sound. Submersed in the unending darkness of the cell, Cole would take from his pocket a small bundle of cloth and carefully unwrap the radiant blue glowstone, placing it on the floor of the cell. The weeping would stop then with a strained hitch, and Cole would be met with the stricken eyes of a desperate mage. He would whisper words of soothing, bringing the initial terror to a gradual rest. The prisoners had questions. They always had questions. Soon, a wave of realization washed over them, and they all asked the same quivering question:

"Are you going to kill me?"

His dagger was gripped in his hands; it was his mother's. He would turn it over and over in his palm as he considered the inquiry. "I think so. Yes." He never really needed the time to think about his answer, as there was only one reason anyone ever saw him. Only when they needed him.

The fear shot up again, but it was replaced with a calm acceptance every time as an understanding was reached between Cole and the mage. A hushed whisper escaped Cole's lips as he held the prisoner close in the dim light of the glowstone: "_Look at me_." And they did. Cole saw in their eyes, as he thrust the knife upward into their heart, that he was the most important thing in the world at that moment. He was real, even if just for that one moment to that one mage. The feeling grounded him.

Of course, there was one to whom Cole was as real as any other.

A Senior Enchanter by the name of Rhys could see Cole, and remember him, too. They first met in the archives of the Pit, where Rhys had apparently gone looking for '_the Ghost of the Spire_'. They spoke civilly, something almost entirely foreign to Cole, and Rhys continued to seek him out following their initial meeting, curious about the lonely boy forgotten by all around him.

The year that followed was tumultuous, to say the least. Tensions between the mages and Templars only grew, and Cole soon discovered Rhys was suspected to be the killer of the mages in the Pit. Paralyzed by the fear of facing the Templars, he nearly came to blows with his one and only friend in the whole world to prevent himself from being revealed. Regret surged through him immediately afterward, but before he could act, Rhys was being taken away by an old woman mage, accompanied by a red-headed mage and a pretty Templar. Though he could barely muster up the courage, Cole somehow convinced himself to follow the group.

They ended up at a ruin of a fortress called Adamant. Inside were many demons, inhabiting the bodies of Adamant's previous residents, as well as a Tranquil elf possessed by a powerful creature of Pride, which should have been impossible. The group, joined by an insufferably sarcastic golem, entered the Fade to free the elf, and Cole was drawn in as well, reliving the nightmares of the old woman: the penultimate battle of the Fifth Blight, against the Archdemon, Urthemiel.

They succeeded, and the elf was free, of both the demon and his Tranquility. The party, now joined by Cole and the elf, Pharamond, returned to Val Royeaux, only to be met with civil war and outrage from the Lord Seeker Lambert upon the revelation that the Rite of Tranquility could be reversed. The inevitable soon passed, and every Circle in Orlais and Ferelden conceded to full-on rebellion. Cole, along with the old woman- Rhys's mother Wynne, the pretty Templar Evangeline, and Wynne's old friend Sister Leliana, fought to save Rhys from the Pit and escape with their lives. With freedom nearly at hand, the Lord Seeker Lambert stood in their way, revealing Cole's true nature which even Cole himself didn't know.

Cole never existed. He was just another demon festering in the world's wounds, tricking Rhys and everyone else around him.

He saw the fear and doubt in Rhys's eyes when he heard those words, and Cole had felt himself slipping away rapidly, until he was no more. He couldn't stand to see Rhys look at him like that. He wished Rhys would just forget.

And now he found himself faced with those eyes once again.

* * *

><p>The Inquisitor shifted uncertainly, staring at Cole. He ignored her, however, and remained frozen in place under Rhys's gaze. Evangeline seemed to share the Inquisitor's uneasy feelings, waiting for either Rhys or Cole to speak first.<p>

"Yes," Cole finally breathed, still holding Rhys's gaze desperately as if it were his one lifeline. His face was paler than usual, and he looked as if he was torn between wanting to run as far away as he could and wanting nothing more than to stay right there. "It is me, Rhys."

Again, the world seemed to wait with bated breath as the handsome mage still stared. As if in slow motion, he leapt forward to pull Cole into a tight embrace, much to the spirit's surprise. "Cole! _Cole!_ I've _missed_ you. I was... I was so worried..." Tears threatened to spill from Rhys's eyes, and Evangeline stepped forward with a small smile, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. When words failed Rhys, she turned her eyes to Cole.

"We were both worried, after what happened with Lambert. We heard news that he was killed in his chambers. I... I must apologize. I promised to protect you, but I failed, just as the others of the order did." Her eyes turned to the ground sadly. Rhys let out a stifled sob against Cole's shoulder.

"I..." Cole was speechless. He had never thought he would ever see Rhys or Evangeline ever again. He had never thought they might want to see _him_ again. This reunion was too much. He could feel tears of his own starting to spring to his eyes.

"Come. We can set up camp by the forest," the Inquisitor softly interceded. "You can better catch up there than here."

"Yes, of course," Rhys said thickly, straightening quickly and wiping his eyes. "We've already a spot nearby. Follow us."

He turned and strode off towards the forest with great speed, Evangeline at his heels. The Inquisitor cast a warm look to the stunned Cole and reached out to give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Hey. It's going to be fine. They're _happy_ to see you. I knew they would be." The last part was sort of a lie on her part, but Cole smiled slightly all the same.

"Yes. Thank you, Inquisitor." With that, the party followed after Rhys and Evangeline, towards a glowing speck of fire near the forest's edge, the only sound being the occasional uncontrollable sniff from Cole.

* * *

><p>The deep purple of the twilight skies had long since pooled into the silent black of midnight by the time everyone was caught up with each other. Blackwall quietly prodded the campfire, coaxing the flames to rear towards the sky as Rhys explained the events of the White Spire to the Inquisitor, Solas, and himself. In turn, Rhys and Evangeline listened diligently to Cole as he recounted his own tale of what happened to him after the rebellion.<p>

"...So the Lord Seeker was lying," Evangeline muttered finally, her hand casually entwined with Rhys's as she looked at Cole. "You are not a demon after all."

"It would appear not," Solas nodded. "It is to our belief that he is in fact a spirit of Compassion."

Cole sat deep in thought beside Rhys. The mere act of sitting so close to his old friend thrilled him. Slowly, he said, "The Lord Seeker did not know he lied. He forgot, as did the others, that Cole starved in the dungeons. I held his hand until the darkness was over. I _am_ Cole."

"Yes, you are." The Inquisitor's voice was firm as she surveyed the thin young man with an irrepressible fondness. "No demon could ever be as kind as you. Never forget that." Cole smiled at her words. Rhys cast an askew glance back and forth between the two, his face awash with thoughtfulness. After a moment of further consideration, a wide grin crossed his face as he patted Cole's head affectionately.

"Where did you get this hat, anyway?" he laughed, poking it in amusement. "You didn't have it in the Spire. It's rather large, isn't it?"

"I like my hat," Cole pouted defensively, running his fingers along the rim.

Evangeline shook her head with a smile at the exchange, before turning a more serious visage to the Inquisitor. "Now that we're all caught up, I suppose we should focus on the task at hand." The Inquisitor nodded, her own face turning grim.

"Indeed. Give us the full report."


End file.
